


The Absence of Memory

by dragonwings948



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara's Theme, Feels, Friendship, Grieving, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Loss, Post-Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwings948/pseuds/dragonwings948
Summary: After the Doctor loses his memories of Clara, he tries to remember her to no avail.





	The Absence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Yeesh, this one is feelsy. Another old fic I polished a bit. :)

_I don’t remember._

_Do I even_ want _to remember? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do, but then a memory almost breaks to the surface and I push it away._

_Maybe it’s better that I don’t remember. I already live with so much pain and I don’t know how much more I can bear._

_But underneath it all…_

_I think I want to remember._

_I want to remember her._

The Doctor burst through the TARDIS doors and slammed his back against them as soon as he was inside. As they swung shut, a vibration made the wood shudder and the Doctor’s spine tingled.

            “Yeah, you’d like to get in here, wouldn’t you?” he called. This time, the assault on the doors pushed the Doctor forward so that he stumbled toward the console.

            The lock on the door rattled and the TARDIS shook. The Doctor lost his footing and reached for the console as he fell forward. His fingers grabbed onto the edge and he pulled himself up. He began pecking at the keyboard in front of him.

            “Well you know what?” he called over his shoulder. He was answered by another tremor. “I think you’re bananas!” He pulled down on a lever and the engines began to whine. He grinned to himself and even chuckled at his own joke.

            After a moment he swung the monitor around and rapped his knuckles on it. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t send me to a planet of sentient bananas when I tell you _I want a banana.”_

            The rotor whirred in response. “How was I supposed to know?” the Doctor continued as he circled the console. “It didn’t exactly try to stop me from eating it!”

            He paused as the engines quieted. His eyes swept over the empty console room. An empty feeling settled itself in his stomach. Something in the back of his mind nagged at him, telling him this wasn’t right.

            But he didn’t know why. Not really, anyway.

            “Did she laugh at my jokes?” he asked to no one in particular. The TARDIS remained silent. The Doctor took slow, deliberate steps toward the stairs, listening to the way his shoes creaked in the stillness. “What did her laugh sound like?” He began to ascend the stairs, the endless questions pouring from his mouth. “Did her eyes light up when she smiled?”

            But his queries only echoed in the silence, remaining unanswered as they bounced against the walls, repeating themselves again and again before fading away.

            His shoes clopped against the metal floor as he reached the second floor, facing the chalkboard.

            _Run you clever boy and be a Doctor._

“Did she really think I was clever?” He reached for the chalk and rolled it in between his forefinger and thumb. “Did she really believe I could live up to my name? Did she know what it stands for?”

            Something warm rested on his cheek. Fingertips pressed themselves gently into his skin. The Doctor closed his eyes and saw an arm reaching up toward him. He tried with all his might to focus on the body the arm belonged to, but it wouldn’t come into focus.

_“Be a Doctor.”_

            The words he had read countless times were whispered like a voice carried by the wind. Was this his imagination giving the words a voice, or his memories?

            He opened his eyes and the words stared back at him. Unmoving, unchanging, voiceless.

            The Doctor replaced the chalk and reached inside his coat to grab a tiny notebook and pencil from his pocket. The worn book opened straight to the first empty page and the Doctor began to scribble away.

 

_I saw her again. No more than usual, it was only her arm and I could feel her hand on my cheek._

_But this time, I might have heard her._

_She said, “Be a Doctor.”_

_I think I probably just invented a voice for the words on the chalkboard._

            He stared at his sloppy scrawling and then flipped quickly through the several previous pages in the notebook. After all the dreams and partial memories, not once had he been able to see her face. Not one time had he been able to recall just how he had felt about her.

            “How much did I care about her?” The question came from his mouth as a low grumble. He stared down at his records of Clara that he carried with him always.

            He sighed and pocketed the notebook and pencil. What a stupid question. Some part of him, somewhere deep down inside where nothing was ever quite forgotten, was in pain. And for the runaway time lord, pain and love always walked hand in hand.

            “How much did she care about me?”

            As if in response, a single chord sounded in his head. The Doctor gritted his teeth against the earworm, but it was as if a powerful, invisible force turned his feet to walk toward his guitar leaning against the bookshelf. He could never fight against the power of the Song.

            He picked up his guitar and pulled the strap over his shoulder. He turned the amp on and leaned back against the bookshelf. His fingers moved across the frets without his say so, taking up a position that no longer required thought.

            He strummed. Though it was a major chord, he thought to himself that no song had ever had a more melancholy beginning. His fingers moved on their own, playing the only song he had been able to play ever since he had lost her. It was as if the Song was the outpouring of his unknown grief. It was the only way he could remember. Somehow, when he played, he could feel her arms around him. He could hear the way she laughed at his grumpy attitude. He could hear her fragile human heartbeat as they hid in silence from a murderous monster.

            More than that, he could feel…happy.

            But the feeling couldn’t last. Toward the end of the song the memories faded to black, and a forlorn longing replaced the Doctor’s content mood. Finally, when he struck the last chord, he heaved a great sigh. The notes reverberated in the console room for only a few moments before they dissipated altogether, taking every last echo of her with them.

            “Clara,” he whispered into the silence. The TARDIS emitted its normal quiet background noises.

            It was too still.

            “Clara Oswald.” The Doctor closed his eyes, but even worse than the sight of the empty TARDIS was that of his empty mind, completely void of memories with her.

            “I miss you.”

 


End file.
